England formerly a Slave, her Monarchs arbitrary.
Thou wast the veriest slave, in days of yore,
That ever dragg'd a chain, or tugg'd an oar.
Thy monarchs arbitrary, fierce, unjust,
Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust,
Disdain'd thy counsels; only in distress
Found thee a goodly spunge for pow'r to press.
Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee,
Provok'd and harrass'd, in return plagu'd thee;
Call'd thee away from peaceable employ,
Domestic happiness and rural joy,
To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down
In causeless feuds and bick'rings of their own.
Thy parliaments ador'd on bended knees,
The sov'reignty they were conven❜d to please;
Whate'er was ask'd, too timid to resist,
Comply'd with, and were graciously dismiss'd;
And, if some Spartan soul a doubt express'd,
And, blushing at the tameness of the rest,
Dar'd to suppose the subject had a choice,
He was a traitor by the gen'ral voice.
Bids us now be grateful for our present Blessings.
Oh, slave! with pow'rs thou didst not dare exert,
Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert;
It shakes the sides of splenetic disdain,
Thou self-entitled ruler of the main,
To trace thee to the date when yon fair sea,
That clips thy shores, had no such charms for thee;
When other nations flew from coast to coast,
And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag to boast.
Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust;
Blush, if thou canst; not petrified, thou must;
Act but an honest and a faithful part;
Compare what then thou wast with what thou art;
And, God's disposing providence confess'd,
Obduracy itself must yield the rest.-
Then art thou bound to serve him, and to prove, Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love.
Has he not hid thee, and thy favour'd land, For ages safe beneath his shelt'ring hand, Giv'n thee his blessing on the clearest proof, Bid nations leagu'd against thee stand aloof,
Providence preserved us against the Spanish Armada.
And charg'd hostility and hate to roar
Where else they would, but not upon thy shore?
His pow'r secur'd thee when presumptuous Spain
Baptiz'd her fleet invincible in vain.
Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resign'd
To ev'ry pang that racks an anxious mind, la
Ask'd of the waves that broke upon his coast,
What tidings? and the surge replied—All lost!
And, when the Stuart, leaning on the Scot,
Then too much fear'd, and now too much forgot,
Pierc'd to the very centre of the realm,
And hop'd to seize his abdicated helm,
'Twas but to prove how quickly, with a frown,
He that had rais'd thee could have pluck'd thee down. Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd,
Thy foes implacable, thy land at rest;
Thy thunders travel over earth and seas,
And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm,
Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm,
Liberty illuminates our Isle, and Vice is Slavery.
While his own heav'n surveys the troubled scene,
And feels no change, unshaken and serene.
Freedom, in other lands scarce known to shine,
Pours out a flood of splendour upon thine;
Thou hast as bright an int'rest in her rays
As ever Roman had in Rome's best days.
True freedom is where no restraint is known
That scripture, justice, and good sense, disown,
Where only vice and injury are tied,
And all from shore to shore is free beside.
Such freedom is-and Windsor's hoary tow'rs
Stood trembling at the boldness of thy pow'rs,
That won a nymph on that immortal plain,
Like her the fabled Phoebus woo'd in vain :
He found the laurel only-happier you
Th' unfading laurel and the virgin too*!
Now think if pleasure have a thought to spare;
If God himself be not beneath her care;
* Alluding to the grant of Magna Charta, which was extorted from king John by the Barons at Runnymede near Windsor.
The Cruelty of popish Bigotry,
If bus'ness, constant as the wheels of time,
Can pause an hour to read a serious rhime;
If the new mail thy merchants now receive,
Or expectation of the next give leave;
Oh think, if chargeable with deep arrears
For such indulgence gilding all thy years,
How much, though long neglected, shining yet,
The beams of heav'nly truth have swell'd the debt!
When persecuting zeal made royal sport
With tortur'd innocence in Mary's court,
And Bonner blithe as shepherd at a wake,
Enjoy'd the show, and danc'd about the stake;
The sacred book, its value understood,
Receiv'd the seal of maytyrdom in blood,
Those holy men, so full of truth and grace,
Seem, to reflection, of a diff'rent race;
Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere,
In such a cause they could not dare to fear;
They could not purchase earth with such a prize,
Or spare a life too short to reach the skies.
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